When It All Falls Down (7 page)

I drive over to Tony Robinson's place of employment. I pull into the parking lot of Orbit Software Company. It seems like the first gentleman has a good job as a software engineer. A good job that isn't worth missing. After I park, I take a moment to review the information that Pastor Robinson has given me. First Gentleman Tony Robinson was born in Richmond, California. His father worked at a sheet metal factory and his mother was a school secretary. Based on the articles from the local newspaper, Tony was a pretty good tailback, but not good enough to go to a Division I school on scholarship. Tony's glory and fame ended in high school. Tony went on to San Jose State and got a degree in engineering. Tony later got a master's degree in the same field, and he lived a normal life until his wife, Alicia Robinson, decided to become a preacher.

I watch as the employees enter and exit through a building that can only be accessed by keycard. There is no way I can get into the building, but I might not need to with the weather in my favor. I was wrong in my earlier assessment; the day has turned out to be clear and there is a light breeze. God only knows how many lovely days like this I waste working.

Outside are a few steel benches with an open umbrella to provide shade. Three women sit in a half circle while they devour their salads, the sun, and conversation.

Tony Robinson is a nice-looking guy and I figure that one of the women will know Tony and provide me with some much-needed information. So I make my way toward the women and make sure that I turn my swagger on and up.

“Hello, ladies,” I say.

A few squeals and chuckles and I know that the women lock on to me like a heat-seeking missile.

“I was looking for—”

“Me?” The assumed leader of the pack asks.

I chuckle to myself. I am not a
GQ
model, but I do have an appeal with women with my rugged looks and conservative style of dress. “I'm looking for Tony Robinson.”

The women look at each other with curious suspicion. I don't know if my inquiry of the first gentleman sparks controversy or shyness.

“We haven't seen him.” The leader of the group looks at the other two women. “We haven't seen him in like a week or two.”

“I thought he was on vacation,” another girl says.

That is a clever question. The woman wants me to divulge information as it relates to Tony's absence from work, but I am not up for playing that game. These girls don't know any more information than what I have already obtained.

“I don't know. I hadn't seen him in a while and I was looking to catch up with him,” the leader said.

“Thank you,” I say as I turn away and head toward the car. I don't want to leave a lasting impression; I just want to get the information I need and go. So far the trip to Tony's job is a waste of time.

I am not even to my car when I hear the sound of heavy footsteps. I turn around and a heavyset man who is well over the six-feet, 300-pound mark approaches me. I do not want an altercation, especially with a man who is the size of a bear, but the fact that he approaches me means that I am getting close.

“Why are you asking about Tony?” The guy gets close enough to impose his physical dominance over me.

“I just needed to talk to him.”

“You Jesus freaks need to leave him alone.” The guy points at my temple.

My animal instinct is to bite his finger off, but I hold my poise. “Actually I owed him a beer and I came by to clear my debt. But since you're here I can settle my debt with you.”

 

Two hours later, and three beers to Mike and four bottles of water to me, and I find myself in the middle of a sports conversation.

“They can't move the Kings to L.A. That would be stupid to have three L.A. teams. Man, these rich folks are a trip. They just make drastic changes without any regard for the little people.”

“I agree with you.”

I wait for Mike to enjoy another sip of his Heineken. Mike became chatty after the first beer. “Let me ask you something.”

Mike signals for me to keep going as he holds the bottle to his lips.

“What would cause Tony to leave his job?”

Mike slams the bottle down with some force. “Look, man, I ain't no snitch”

“I'm neither a cop nor a gangster.”

“I've never seen my boy talk to you or talk about you. I've never even seen you before today.”

“I'm a concerned individual and I'm trying to help reconcile things between Tony and his wife.”

“The broad . . .” Mike catches himself. The alcohol has not tempered his aggression. “She thinks she can help thousands and then disrespect my boy.”

“How?”

Mike straightens up his posture and gives me a stern look. “Look, man, I made it a habit to mind my own business and you should do the same.”

“I'll keep that in mind, but answer me this: have you seen him recently?”

“About a week ago. He said he needed space. I offered him a place to stay and he said he had a place already.”

“Did he say anything about leaving town?”

Mike replies by shaking his head. I give Mike a pat on his back and step away from the bar. I leave a hundred dollar bill on the bar and signal to the Irish bartender that the money is for Mike. Mike gave me some useful information and I have another person to see before I call Pastor Robinson with an update.

 

 

From the bar, I drive out to Richmond, California and make my way to Richmond High School.

Richmond High School is home of the Oilers, which is a bitter emblem for an area that is at a socioeconomic disadvantage. The chips are stacked against the students, which leaves them one main area to strike oil: sports. Based on the file, I know that Tony Robinson fought with every inch to climb out of the pit. The only problem is that Tony used the same pipe dream that everyone else uses.

I sit and observe a football practice already in session. A small group of boys and girls hangs out at the bottom of the bleachers. I sit at the top and I try to tune out their mindless, vulgar chatter. Instead I focus my attention on Head Coach Eric Williams. Williams has been the head coach of Richmond High School for nineteen years. His no-nonsense attitude commands respect from his coaching staff and players. Williams stands out on the sideline deck in a white polo, black slacks, and dark shades with his arms folded like Mr. T. I watch as each player tries to execute each play to perfection, and from the look of Coach Williams, he wouldn't accept anything less from his players.

I wait until after practice to approach Coach Williams. Even after Coach Williams sends his team to the showers, Williams still stays back and works with a few of his promising players. I head down the steps of the bleachers and cross the dirt track. I'm sure my $300 shoes do not like getting dirt on them, but I have a job to do. Once I cross the track, I am in Coach Williams's radar.

“Can I help you?' Coach Williams says.

“Yes. My name is Minister Nicodemus Dungy and I had a few questions to ask you about Tony Robinson.”

Williams maintains his poker face despite the fact that I have just mentioned one of his prized players. Williams starts to walk and I start to follow.

“What do you want to know about Tony?”

“I just wanted to know if you've seen him lately.”

My question causes Coach Williams to stop dead in his tracks. “I may have been born at night, but it wasn't last night. If you can't find Tony then that means he doesn't want to be found.”

“He may not want to be found, but he needs to. His wife is worried sick.”

Coach Williams chuckles to himself as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bag of sunflower seeds and pours some in his mouth. I can tell that Coach Williams wants to tell me something, but he needs a reason to trust me.

“Listen, I know you're loyal to him, but I needed to know if you have either seen or heard from him recently. That's it, nothing more.”

Williams spits out some of the seeds on the grass. “He came by here about a week ago. He looked like he was upset about something.”

“Did he tell you what about?” I ask.

“I didn't ask and he didn't say. He just sat and watched the practice and gave a few pointers to the young bucks. That was it.”

And that is all I need. Between Michael and Eric, I am able to establish a timeline that the last anyone has seen or heard from Tony was a week ago.

“Thank you, Coach, and good luck with the season.” I shake hands with Coach Williams and start to walk away.

“He couldn't handle pressure,” Coach Williams says.

“Excuse me?'

“Tony. He couldn't handle pressure. That's why he didn't make it. Put him in a game with nothing to lose and Tony was phenomenal, but in the close games and the games that counted for something, he'd fold like a bad hand. You know what I mean?”

“I believe I do.” I step away from Coach Williams to make a phone call.

“Hello,” Pastor says on the other end.

“It's Nic. I found out that your husband is still in town.”

There is a brief silence that could be interpreted to mean many things.

“Okay, so what happens now?” she finally asks.

“Now I go and see a friend,” I reply.

“Can he find him?”

“He can find for you a burning bush.”

“He could find a burning bush?” Pastor Robinson chuckles, but I don't because I know that the guy I am going to see is that good.

Spider is a six foot white boy decorated in tattoos from his neck down to his arms. He wears a black Oakland A's baseball cap and a black sweatshirt. Some of his tattoos can't be covered with a hood sweatshirt, and creep out the sides of his neck and hands. Arguably, Spider is the best bounty hunter on the West Coast.

Spider grew up in Lexington, Kentucky, where hunting is as much of a necessity as chores and church. I met Spider fifteen years ago in college, where he studied criminal justice. At first I thought he was a classic tale of a white boy who wanted to be black, but Spider has an edge and realness to him. Spider dropped out of college after his sophomore year and started experimenting with drugs. I found Spider five years ago at the MacArthur BART station begging for change. After an extensive conversation, he got saved.

That seems like a lifetime ago. Spider is unable to become a lawyer because he has a criminal record. He then decided to go into law enforcement, and became a bounty hunter. Today, Spider serves cookies to underprivileged kids. He volunteers with an inner-city program as a way to tap into the softer side of an otherwise tough exterior.

I know working to catch criminals can take its toll on an individual, so volunteering at community centers reminds Spider that he is helping to create a better environment for these children.

“Argh!” a little kid yells as he runs toward Spider.

Spider picks the boy up by one hand and holds him to the ceiling. “I got you now.”

“I'm stronger than you,” the little kid says as he tried to squirm out of Spider's massive grip.

Moments later, Spider puts the little kid down and is relieved of his duties by this Hispanic lady and proceeds to take out the trash. I figure this is a good time to approach Spider. I follow him outside of the building, where there is a beat-up Dumpster with chipped paint that is waiting to be filled. Spider's back is turned.

“You think in a room filled with kids I can't spot an unshaved man in a suit?”

I follow his smart remark with a playful combination to the ribs. In a real fight, where I gave up four inches in height and fifty pounds in weight, I would've been beaten to a point beyond recognition. Spider welcomes the playful exchange with a combination of his own before giving me a hug.

“What's up, brotha?” Spider says. He breaks away and examines me. “You look like crap, as usual.”

“What can I say? It suits me.”

“So what are you doing here?” Spider tosses the garbage bag into the Dumpster.

“Work. I'm helping a church out.”

Spider fixes his lips. Though he does not know what I do officially, Spider knows that I am not a straight-laced preacher.

“So why are you out here in San Leandro? You missed me?”

“Of course not.” I shrug my shoulders. “I got a job for you.”

“A job? What kind of job?” Spider asks.

“One that suits your particular skill set.”

“What, a member of the church stole the offering?” Spider lets out a laugh and I let out a smirk.

“Is he or she running from the law?” Spider asks.

“Worse, his wife.”

Spider lets out a sadistic laugh. “That may be harder to find.”

“I figured that.” I reach into my jacket and remove an envelope and toss it to Spider. “That's ten grand. Half now, half when the job is complete.”

Spider opens the envelope and examines the stack of one-hundred-dollar bills. Missing persons is not my thing. I moonlight as a minister, so if I pay Spider twenty grand from a hundred fifty grand to find Tony Robinson, it is worth it.

“That's a lot of scratch to find a husband.”

“What can I say? She really wants to reconcile things. Listen, I just need you to knock on a couple of doors. Check the airports, bus depots, to see if he might've left town. We'll get together later and compare notes.”

“Okay, I got you. When was the last time she saw him?” Spider puts the envelope in his front pocket.

“Two weeks ago.”

Spider lets out a whistle. He and I both know the complexity that comes with a search for a man who has gone missing for more than two weeks. “He could be anywhere.”

“I spoke with his coworker and his coach. He's still here in town, I think. At least, he was a week ago.”

“If he's here, I'll find him. I'll need information.”

I reach into my jacket and pull out another envelope that has more information in it. I spent last night compiling information from Tony Robinson's driver's license and bank statements. Name it and I have it in the file. Pastor Robinson was instrumental in my acquisition of the information; she did not spare any information.

“Okay. I'll get started. But if he's skipped town, then you got to make travel arrangements for me to get him.”

“I can manage that.” I shrug my shoulders again.

 

 

I arrive back at the church and enter a midsized sanctuary. The pulpit has a one-step platform with a diamond-shaped middle where the pulpit is located. There are pews with purple padding that matches the drapes. Purple is a color of divinity, royalty, and the Los Angeles Lakers, but it is not a color that summons men. I wish that men didn't pay attention to such trivial things as the décor of a church, but they do. We're taught to walk by faith and not by sight, but that biblical principle is easier said than done.

I walk into a meeting already in progress. Pastor Robinson, Minister Blackwell, and a man who I have not previously met are in the front pew. The man gets up and walks over to me.

“Hi, I'm Minister Mackie.” He shakes my hand. “I feel like I'm meeting Davy Crockett.”

“I'm not sure if I should take it as a compliment.” I'm not used to people being happy to see me. I am usually treated like a necessary family event. People are nervous and on edge when I'm here and happy when I am gone.

“Well, it's because you're about to make the devil mad.” Minister Mackie flashes me a Kool-Aid smile.

The rest of the people in the room do not share Minister Mackie's enthusiasm. I feel like I make the devil laugh more than anything with my futile attempts. It is only on those rare occasions when I make a connection with my clients that it feels like I am doing real damage in the kingdom.

“So what's up?”

“We have a problem,” Minister Blackwell says.

“Well, we don't have time to fool around so let's hear it.”

“The associate pastor is not ready,” Pastor Robinson says sternly.

This is the part that I hate the most about my job: pastors and their authority. A pastor who is full of pride is very toxic in this kind of situation, where they have to take direction from someone else. I put my hands in my pockets and walked over to Pastor Robinson. “And why is the associate pastor not prepared to assume a role that he was supposed to be prepared for?”

“Because I made him the associate pastor without any intentions of him taking over in my absence. In the beginning it was hard to get someone to be committed to a woman pastor. Mitchell was committed and I made him Pastor. It was an emotional decision and not a spiritual one and I realize that now.”

Pastor Robinson made a common problem that so many pastors make. They make decisions based on emotions and rationale. Rarely do they take into account what God's Word says about wisdom and using wisdom and spiritual conviction during the process of picking leaders.

“So what's wrong with him?” I ask.

“He doesn't have good communication skills.”

I laugh to myself and begin to pace the floor. A pastor with poor communication skills is the same as a baseball player with no hand-to-eye coordination. It's a small wonder how this ministry grew to its current size given that so many poor decisions were made in the flesh and not the spirit. The three ministers shake their heads and look at each other.

“Is Bible Study tonight?” I ask.

“At seven
P.M.
,” Minister Blackwell says.

“I'll sit in and observe how things run and we'll go from there,” I reply.

“Okay,” Pastor Robinson says.

I can tell that Pastor Robinson is reluctant to give up her pulpit, but I can't consider her feelings while trying to resolve her issue.

“May I have a moment with Pastor Robinson?” I say to Minister Blackwell and Minister Mackie.

Minister Blackwell and Minister Mackie look at Pastor Robinson, who then gives them a head nod and the two men leave without any resistance. I wait until the men have left the sanctuary before I go and have a seat along the front pew. I tap an empty space on the pew for Pastor Robinson to have a seat next to me, and she does after a moment of hesitation.

“I have to be honest with you; your ministry is not in the best of shape,” I say.

“You should've seen the look on folks' faces when I told them God called me to the ministry. I still remember what I had on: a black T-shirt with hot pink in the design. I also had the hot pink shorts to match and, boy, was they short.”

I chuckle because even in the most progressive church, Pastor Robinson's outfit would've been unacceptable.

“But God called me and I answered the call, but no one wanted to support me in ministry except for Pastor McMurray, Minister Blackwell, and Minister Mackie. They stuck with me through thick and thin and I rewarded them for that.”

“I can imagine how hard it must've been for you, but when it's God's will, you have to trust that even when it looks grim.”

Pastor Robinson has tears and she reaches into her suit jacket and removes some tissue. Pastor Robinson wipes her eyes and I can tell that her tears are not over who she named Associate Pastor.

“Sometimes I hate being good at my job,” I say, but I don't wait for a response. “I can tell when someone's lying and I can tell when someone is hiding something.”

“Minister Dungy, I don't have time for this. If you have something to say then say it.”

“You need to make time, but all I've observed in the brief time that I have been here is that you're less concerned about finding your husband than you are about who teaches tonight's Bible Study.”

Pastor Robinson avoids eye contact with me. She just sits there with her head down. “Tony was against me going into the ministry. Sometimes my husband can throw a fit like a little kid. It took awhile for him to let me go to seminary. I think he figured that I would quit just as soon as it got hard like I did with everything else.” Pastor Robinson shakes her head and chuckles to herself. “I showed him, and even now, he still has his reservations; but I thought we were past this.”

There is something in her tone and her words that convey to me a cryptic message. Pastor Robinson is not beside herself over her husband's disappearance. “This isn't the first time he has left has he?”

Pastor Robinson shakes her head. “Nope. This is the longest, but Tony has a habit of disappearing for a week. Then he shows up and doesn't want to talk about where he's been. I put up with it because he's my husband and I love him.”

Pastor Robinson wipes her eyes. “I forgive him and I try to refocus my attention on the ministry. Tony leaving is his way of getting back at me for not doing things his way, but this latest disappearing act is his longest.”

“So you're thinking he'll come back?”

“Of course, because he's in love,” Pastor Robinson replies.

“So then why hire me?” I shrug my shoulders.

“Because I'm not some naïve twenty-three-year-old who ain't got anything better to do than run behind some man. I have a ministry to run and I was told that you're good at handling these matters discreetly.”

“I can and I will, but I need for you to be ready to know what to say to your husband when I do find him.”

“So your friend is looking for him?” Pastor Robinson asks.

“He's on the case and you should be ready to reconcile with your husband.”

“I am.” Pastor Robinson rolls her eyes.

“I hope for your sake you're right.”

 

 

“God bless you and welcome to Jubilee.” A beautiful greeter leads me to an usher who leads me to the sanctuary. I enter the sanctuary and see the praise team engaged in praise and worship while one-third of the congregation sit and clap their hands. I take a seat at the back pew. To me the best seat in the house is the back of the church. I find out a lot about a church and its effectiveness from the back row. I can tell if someone pays attention to the service or if they just text. I can even read the faces of the people sitting in the pulpit and tell if they are into the service, as well. The back row gives me the most objective view of the church.

Pastor Robinson sits in her chair with a Bible on her lap. She looks prepared to preach, and only time will tell if Robinson will play ball. At the musician station I notice the drummer, Jeremy, stare at Pastor Robinson like a work of art. Jeremy is about as subtle as a marching band.

“You notice that this is like the third week since First Gentleman has been here?” an elderly sister of the church says to another woman.

“I hear that he left the pastor for another woman. Most men can't handle an anointed woman.”

I start to chuckle, loud enough to get the two women's attention and to get the women to shut up. The women have the nerve to look offended and I have the nerve to look at them like they are crazy.

“Praise the Lord. To God be the glory!” Minister Blackwell says. “Give an honor to God and our praise team is anointed.”